


If Only For You

by Liz_Writes



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Feels, Fluff and Angst, The Silmarillion References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28471725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz_Writes/pseuds/Liz_Writes
Summary: Melkor lays out a new woe to his brother. Manwë does his best to help as best he can.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	If Only For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tyelkormofuckyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyelkormofuckyou/gifts).



> This work is for @ simarillionmeme on instagram, or tyelkormofuckyou on tumblr! This is my first ever fic, so please tell me how better to write if you want!

Opposites attract.

Or so Estë had told him, as the communion of Yvanna and Aulë’s communion processed around them. Indeed it seemed so, Manwë thought to himself. Aulë was everything that Yvanna was not, and Yvanna was everything the forge-master lacked. Mistress of all that grew and blossomed, she brought a wild, fae grace to everything she touched. Ivy and ferns and moss sprouted without care to boundaries or constraints. And neither did she. Aulë governed over stone and earth with precision, and not a grain of dust was not accounted for. And yet as the lamps glowed softly on the celebration, Yvanna laughed merrily as her flowers spread across the ground she walked on; Aulë trailed her in a quiet calculated stride, smiling to himself at his new wife’s elation, Manwë couldn’t help but agree with Estë. He does not anymore, though. 

He sit now with another on the slopes of Taniquetil, gazing upon a different sight altogether. Wisps of clouds just underneath him graze his toes, patches of silvery white blocking the vibrant colors of the valley below. It was beautiful, just as Iluvatar had intended. The tranquil musings of his mind were interrupted by an impatient clearing of a throat beside him. His brother, fully physical hroa clad in black robes, stared not at the beauty around him, but instead cast his ire at Manwë. A clammy sort of darkness surrounded him, his trademark power standing out like a sore thumb among the light ever dousing Arda. 

“You would ignore me now?” accused the other vala, tone seething. Silently Manwë berated himself for dallying too long in thought. 

“Nay.” He started, thinking quickly as how best to apologize. ‘What then, is my place if Arda has no room for darkness?’ Melkor had asked. The question tore at Manwë’s heart, for he was not so divine in Iluvatar’s counsel to know the design of his kin. Still, his heart was soft. He would not leave his brother to suffer ill thoughts alone. “Forgive me. I intended only to ponder your question. I think-” Scoffing, the dark figure that was Melkor cut off his brother. “I understand it well. Do not answer.” What words of affirmation Manwë had to offer laid stale in his throat as Melkor continued. “You cannot answer because there is none. I have no place in this world.”

A long sigh left the Lord as he tore his gaze away, gazing out at the valley once more, letting the distant sound of maiar laboring draw him away from the sting of Melkor’s words. “You are right,” he slowly began, lest the dark one cut him off once more. “I do not know the plans Iluvatar has for you. But you do have a place, brother. You must trust that your purpose will yet be revealed.”

Melkor too turned away, but not to stare at the world before him. Head downcast, he opted to study a shard of stone cracked underneath his boot. “I fear you err in your judgment.” came the downcast reply. He would not accept the truth now, and Manwë knew this all too well. No point now was there in attempting any consolation. And so he fell silent. In a twisted sort of way, Manwë could actually understand the logic Melkor used. What place did he have if they had strove so hard to eradicate darkness from Arda and Valinor entirely? A pit of uncertainty began to build up in his heart, and for the first time he doubted Iluvatar’s master plan before quickly setting the fear aside. 

Time meant naught to the vala, but the acute, tense mood between the two was pungent. The usual blur that accompanied the passage of the minutes had been slowed by the awkward aura, almost as if it could actually weigh down time itself. In the quiet, the voices of Aulë and Tulkas bellowing out orders could be distinguished from the din below. Valinor was complete, but the great city for the children to come had only just been started. For how long it simply continued like that, until Melkor spoke again, Manwë couldn’t say. 

“It is not fair.” The statement was spoken with a sullen, matter of fact tone, just one more loss Melkor was adding to an ever growing pile of transgressions against him. 

Confused, Manwë glanced over, watching the way the hunched figure continued to grind away at the rock and gravel under his feet. “What is not fair?” 

“Your wings. Are we not kin by more than blood?” anger dripped into his tone now, and with a resounding ‘Snap!’ the granite shard shattered into four jagged pieces, crushed under his heel. “Is the throne not boon enough, but you must also take the spoils of those?” a wild, gesture at Manwë nearly struck his face as the vala hadn’t bothered to look up from the ground. 

Manwë’s heart blanched, and a sudden, thick self-consciousness of his own hroa spread through him. It was no small knowledge that his wings were beautiful, maiar had stared and whispered many times, but none of it mattered to the lord. Even now the crystalline, faceted feathers captured every stray beam of light and reflected them back out. Multicolored spots of light followed him wherever he walked, dancing along the walls and ground with the slightest movement. A second wave of guilt battered at Manwë’s conscience as he recalled the more deadly application of the feathers. An accident, of course, when a hurried maia had turned a corner too hastily. Attention elsewhere the vala had been startled, on their own accord the feathers stiffened and sharpened. The maia had been cut up badly, and Manwë left with the shame of causing harm to another. 

He could not find it in himself to defend Iluvatar’s choice to withhold wings from Melkor. He too hung his head then, eyes following a purple hued dot of light as his wings sagged behind him as his mood fell. “I fear I’ve no answer for that either.” honest was the reply, and sorrowful. “I can offer only my condolences.” 

A low, irritated growl sounded in reply to that. “Ere will I despise being ever overshadowed by your ‘unintended’ glory.” Melkor spat out. “If but I did not bear witness to it unendingly.” 

There was little more Manwë could say, for what could he that he had not already conceded a hundred times already? And He could not very well tear down all of Arda to hide away. He looked back to the world, lush greens of the woods swaying in the breeze, the bright blue of the ocean spreading over the horizon. It was beautiful. But when he looked to his brother all he could see was the way he squinted at everything, the light nothing more than a nuisance. ‘Where was his place?’ wondered the lord once more. 

“I cannot repair these woes. But if only for you, I could soothe your heart a fraction, I will.” He admitted softly. “I may not be able to gift you my wings, but I can at least present myself your equal to the world.” 

Melkor looked up, finally, brows pinched together in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, Manwë rose to his feet. “The same magic that shall conceal Valinor can conceal other things as well.” If Melkor reacted, Manwë did not allow himself to see it as he picked his way back down the craggy trail to return to the worksite of the city. And if Melkor saw as light shimmered over the dazzling wings until they could not be seen, he did not allow himself to remember.


End file.
